


Chigusa

by pseudofaux



Category: Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY
Genre: (as desperate as we are for him? no. but desperate), F/M, desperate Yukimura, poor nuns, poor people getting woken up by the grunnnnn(ts), poor priests, sweaty Yukimura, temples are great places to seks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 08:42:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13407576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudofaux/pseuds/pseudofaux
Summary: Yukimura, fresh and not-so-fresh from battle.





	Chigusa

**Author's Note:**

> An anonymous request on tumblr: "Maybe some like sweaty after battle smut with yukimura when he's still kinda in a blood lust" Make my DAY whydoncha, nonny.
> 
> Chigusa is a color, approximately the lighter part of Yukimura's eyes. Those Sanada boys and their Sex God Teal eyes are hard to pin down other colors for!

Pinned down by his body, his arm cushioning the small of her back from the wood of the temple floor, she could only blink.

“Yuki…mura…?”

Had he gotten her feet out from under her, somehow? Had she slipped? They were so close so very suddenly.

She had been wandering the main hall, lonely at midnight. When the door was opened her eyes moved to the sound, worried she had disturbed a priest. But it had been the unmistakable form of her husband, face in shadow as bright moonlight streamed into the room from behind him. She had cried out and run across the room to embrace him, and… and now they were here. However she had landed on the floor, it happened so fast she had not even realized it. The door was closed, too.

What she could see of Yukimura’s skin was grimy with dirt and worse, and the forehead not hidden by his headband was reflective with sweat. She could smell the acridness of unwashed days on his clothes. But his eyes were clear, heaven-bright even in the dimness of the empty hall. They were looking at her in a way that made her mouth go dry. Made her pulse boom in her ears. Made her skin warm.

He nodded.

“Is there anyone else here?” he asked. If not for their proximity she would never have believed a tone so flat could come from his mouth. Yukimura so recently in battle was very different than his normal deferential self.

She shook her head.

“Then I do not care that we are in a temple,” he said urgently. He moved his hands to the collars of her nighttime robes, pulling them aside with the great strength of his arms.

She was shocked into silence. But fresh from a skirmish like this, the still quiet of night plainly doing nothing to chase away his recent demons, she thought she could understand his intensity. Or at least she felt no need to check it. They were lovers. She certainly loved him.

He only pulled the fabric to the sides, baring most of her chest. When he released the cloth it puddled loosely around her upper arms. Her nipples were still covered but only barely, and she squirmed, feeling exposed. Yukimura’s hands found hers, beside her head, and he laced their fingers and squeezed.

She sought his narrowed, passionate eyes with hers and took a breath. He was with her. She knew he would honor and take care of her. That was a tenet of who Yukimura was at his very core. She did not need to fear this, no matter what it would become. She trusted him.

He lowered his head to the skin of her chest, glancing up at her before his mouth touched her flesh.

“Shh,” he warned, chigusa eyes gleaming bright in the dark. The sight of him so full of power and lust, completely in control, made her toes curl.

Her gasp when he sucked at the swell of her left breast was not quiet at all. He drew and drew at her skin, and the point of their contact became a tether, tying and burning her at the same time. She could feel his work as a pull in the core of her. Soon she was squeezing at his fingers, eyes shut tightly and every trembling pore wrung out and desperate for him already.

When he let her skin go, she could feel her chest heaving with the rapidity of her breathing. Her head fell back to the floor. She tried to be quiet but it was hard to hear how loud she was or wasn’t being over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. He had put his mark on her. He had said he didn’t care where they were. Now they would touch each other.

But he held her hands, and lowered his head to her skin again. A centimeter or two to the left of his first mark, he repeated the process. She closed her lips, mindful of his warning, but the sound of a whimper escaped through her nose. Her breathing was pushing her chest at him like an offering.

“Actually,” he said quietly, pressing a wet kiss over the second mark, “make noise. Let me hear you. Just tell me if I hurt you.”

She moaned at the very direction and nodded eagerly. Then his mouth was on her skin again, beside the other marks.

Was he making a line?

She writhed under him, feeling the strong length of his body against hers. If Yukimura was desperate and brave enough to tell her to make noise, she would let every cry free with gladness.

He murmured her name as he squeezed her hands again, his lips ghosting over her skin to set his mouth below the first weal he’d made.

He raised another below it. He was closer to the peak of her breast now, and she was so sensitized from his work on her skin she was trembling and wailing and practically pressing herself into his mouth. She felt the slightest rasp of his teeth as he finished, then the tender brush of his tongue.

When he raised the fifth mark, she realized.

She pulled her hands until Yukimura let them go, and moved them to his shoulders. Her fingers pressed into the sweat-slick cloth there, not strong enough to dent the tautness of his muscles as he completed the crest.

Six coins, in scarlet instead of in gold.

Because they were Sanada, and their coins remained unspent.

If she did not have him in her body soon she was going to wail. She might have already been wailing… she no longer cared that they were in a temple, either. Need for him was avaricious fire in her blood, the rare chance to see him so soon from war and full of his own need was dry and perfect kindling.

Yukimura did not even pause to admire the ritual he had wrought above her heart. He leaned back on his knees between her legs and yanked the sash of her robe until the silk came free, and then pulled at the tie of his surcoat, snapping the cord in his haste.

Now, _now_. They needed each other **_now_**.

He unfastened the rest of his clothing with more care but did not bother to remove anything. Soon only his shoulders and hips kept the clothes on his frame. He was kneeling between her legs, looking at her with heavy-lidded eyes and his lips parted in a way that made her whimper.

“Can you take it rough?” he asked. His voice was that deep, passionate gravel she did not recognize, but his eyes, they flicked from her own to her shoulder. Her heart broke and remade itself at the tenderness with which he asked permission to be savage. He needed. She loved him, and she needed, too.

“Yes,” she promised fiercely.

And for just a heartbeat he looked so thankful she began to smile, wanting to reach for the familiar comfort of his hair. But already his fingers were lacing through hers again, pushing her hands insistently back to the floor, and his hips moved to fit with hers.

The head of his cock, strong and already weeping, nudged at her entrance. His skin touching hers felt so hot and overwhelmingly male that she whined. She squeezed his fingers, trying to pull him into her.

He spared the breath for a relieved sigh when he found her slick for him, too.

And then he did push into her, as far as he could go, with so much force he moved her body from the hips.

As wet and greedy for him as she was, it was no trouble to take him into her body, even with his force. Her long hiss was of contentment at the flawless stretch he caused, deep within her again at last.

Yukimura cursed, pulled away, and slammed himself back into her again, his hands holding hers all the while, the strength of his body holding him over her. She bounced her hips up at him in the little space allowed by his driving into her. Hard. Again and again. There was no rhythm she could try to match, only the rapid, complete, overwhelming joining of their bodies. Yukimura drawing back far, so far she worried. But for nothing, because he never left her completely. And then the powerful push of his muscles brought him back. Profoundly so, in every sense.

When she turned her head to one side, he opened his teeth on the flesh of her shoulder. He made a dark sound but did not bite, and did not suck her skin. He just held her there between his teeth. The realization of him having her hit her with a new wave of arousal, and when her muscles tensed around him he groaned.

Yukimura squeezed her hands once more and then sat back, pulling his fingers down her forearms, down her chest, down her sides. It felt like streams of bathwater running gently along her skin. He fitted his hands at the swell of her hips and then pulled her to him as he pushed into her and she saw stars, she saw her memories of every one of his smiles, she smelled their sweat and lust and she brought her hands over his, gripping him as he gripped her, and she shouted his name into the night.

He grunted above her and it made her happy. She moved to wrap her legs around him, trusting him to hold her steady.

He began to fuck her more slowly but no less completely, and certainly just as rough as he’d asked to. Every time he bottomed out in her he snapped his hips. It made his cock rub the spot inside her they had found early in their discovery of one another. She rolled herself around him as best she could. She made sure her chest bounced.

And she savored his growl when he noticed.

He was murmuring her name soon, eyes shut tightly as he began to simply hold her by the hips. She flexed herself, all of herself, as best she could around all the stimulation. When his fingers tightened on her, she did not bother to hide her grin.

She pushed herself up with her elbows, wanting to see him sliding into her. It wasn’t comfortable but it was worth it to be able to watch, and something about the shift of her body had him much louder, suddenly. His fingers tightened yet again, enough pressure to leave marks she knew he would be apologizing over later.

But not right now.

Now he was like a man possessed, staring ahead at her with those indescribably beautiful eyes over the flat line of his mouth. He held her right where he needed her as he picked up speed again, fucking her as he murmured words she could not make out over the din of pulse and breath and her own pleasure in her ears.

She felt herself beginning to ripple around him without control. The clenching overrode her minute flexing and her brain as she fell back to her shoulders and pushed against the ground with them, crying his name as he began to praise each syllable of her own.

On his fourth thrust after she came, his body joined hers in bliss. He was shouting, and the cry was powerful and vulnerable and all his effort all at once—it reminded her, somewhere in the recesses of her pleasure-addled mind, of his cries during sword practice. She watched in a daze as his mouth opened and his jaw worked on a silent word. He held her hips to his body and stayed in place as his cum shot inside of her in thick pulses. She tried to keep her eyes on him but the sight was too much, too much, she was too sensitive and she loved him too much, and her own aftershocks had her whimpering and melting, replete.

He lowered her to the floor, gently touching her legs as they came to rest. When he leaned toward her face to kiss her, she saw that the fire in his eyes was somewhat dimmed. He kissed her sweetly, soft and slow touches of his tongue to hers stoking her desire anew.

When she breathed her contentment into his mouth, he stopped kissing her. She opened her eyes to meet his.

No longer dimmed.

There was a blush on his cheeks. But perhaps it was only from exertion, because his voice was low and smooth when he said “I still don’t care that we are in a temple.”

Yukimura drank her arousal and her tears and her sweat and her sighs and all her words. He had her again—they had each other—until they were too far gone to worry that in the morning, someone would find them. She took everything he gave as he came back to himself and his bloodlust gave way to weariness. They exhausted themselves before either was sated. But they exhausted themselves together, and fell asleep wrapped in one another, sharing their breath and skin and heat. And hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW the Sanada coins would have a hole in each center but even battle-mad/horny Yukimura isn't that gd thorough with the hickeys, ya dig? FICTION IS BEAUTIFUL.


End file.
